To Love a Criminal
by romancefreak4ever
Summary: Cimmeron has just discovered Ratigan's abandoned hideaway a year after the drastic fight between Basil and Ratigan. But it's not so abandoned when she finds the famed Professor is still alive! But he seems to love her company and she, in turn, grows fond of him. But.. Is there a secret Ratigan's hiding that explains how he survived the fall off Big Ben? Will she accept him for it?
1. Chapter 1: The Thief

**Author's note: How to Pronounce Cimmeron (Sim-ER-on) like "let's _simmer _down" with an "on" at the end.**

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Chapter 1: The Thief

Cimmeron ran as fast as she could, clutching the sack of food close to her, dodging in and out of the crowd as her violin case bounced against her back. Why oh why did she allow herself to be caught? She was better than this at sneaking food away. She was so stupid to have tried stealing the food while there were guards around, but she was so hungry. Usually, she would have bought the food with the money she made by playing her violin in the streets. But there were times when no one seemed generous enough to give her just one gold coin, and today was one of those days. And on those unfortunate days, she would be forced to steal food from carts in the street or sneak in the back of bakeries and snatch a few loaves.

Quickly she took to the alleyways, panting heavily as she sprinted, hoping to lose them in the maze of the alley. At the end of one long lane, she saw that she had run straight towards the Rat Trap, a grubby looking tavern full of ruffians and low-lives. She wasn't too fond of going there, but she did have a friend there who gave her refuge there when she was on the run. Deciding to hide and catch her breath there, she gripped her black cloak tighter around her and made for the bar.

As usual, the noisy pub was in full swing. The smell of cigarette smoke, beer, and sweaty rogues filled Cimmeron's nose. Rough looking men and scantily dressed women sat at the tables, talking and laughing as they played poker, drank large tankards of beer, or sharpened their knives. Some men flirted with the waitresses as they passed by, earning them either a sly wink back or a punch in the nose. Smoke from the cigars and cigarettes slightly clouded the room, making it a little hard to breathe. A few young girls were dancing on stage for their entertainment as some of the men watching whistled and cheered for them.

As Cimmeron went to find a seat, some men who saw her nudged others and pointed at her, wiggling their eyebrows. They leered at her, sly grins curving their faces. Ignoring them, she sat down at a table near the bar, wiping the sweat from her brow and taking deep breaths to slow her rapid heartbeat.

"Cimmy? Is that you, dearie?" a sweet familiar voice called. Cimmeron looked up, smiling at her dear friend. Delara was a chubby mouse with light brown fur, curly black hair, and warm glittering brown eyes. Her face was very motherly, as well as her personality, but Cimmeron knew full well that she was also a very tough woman, and did not let any rodent push her or her friends around.

"Hello, Delara," she panted, still trying to catch her breath.

"Cimmy! It's been a while since you came and visited our lil' pub!" she said happily, wrapping her large arms around her in a loving hug. As she pulled back to look at her, she frowned as she saw the flush in her face. "Sugar, you look like you've been running. What happened?"

"I didn't… make good money today, so… I had to steal some food. I nearly got caught… by the guards, but I lost them in the alleys," Cimmeron panted.

"You were stealing again?" Delara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Sugar, I understand you want to be independen' an' make your own money an' all tha'. But I told ya before, if ya can't get your daily bread, come to me! We got plenty o' food in the pantry."

Cimmeron sighed. "I know, I know. I just forgot, I suppose."

"Well, make sure it don't happen again, or I'll be sending your hide to the Yard meself!" Delara teased, putting her enormous fists on her wide hips in an attempt to look more intimidating.

Cimmeron laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, you traitor."

"Be sure you do," Delara said, leaning down and putting one flabby arm around her shoulders, squeezing them. "Because my home is your home."

Cimmeron smiled, putting her arm around her wide waist and hugged her back. "Thanks, Delara. I can always count on you."

"Not a problem," she said sweetly. She looked around, frowning at some of the people who were looking at them. "What are you all gawkin' at?" she snapped harshly. "It's not like you've never seen a mouse servin' a customer, have you?" The onlookers hastily turned back to their usual business; customers of the Rat Trap knew Delara was not a waitress to be messed with.

"You know they're staring because it's unusual for a rat and a mouse to be friends," Cimmeron mumbled bitterly.

"Ah, these bags o' low-lives don't give a whit if you're a rat or not. The Rat Trap is a place for all walks o' life. Even if they do care, don't you mind them," Delara said, waving her large hand dismissively. "They want to be a bunch o' racist pigs, let 'em. Now, what can I get you, sugar?"

"A tall glass of ice cold water, please," Cimmeron answered, opening up her bundle with her meal in it.

"You got it, sweetie. An' if any of these thugs come givin' you a hard time, give me a holler," Delara said, winking at her and heading towards the bar.

Cimmeron chuckled as she helped herself to her food. She really had to admire her friend's spunk. She herself wasn't quite as loud as Delara was. Of course, she will speak up for herself when she needed to, but she didn't have Delara's tough attitude or quick comebacks that made her the head waitress of the Rat Trap. Cimmeron was a little quieter and didn't get quite as worked up when someone bothered her, and she always tried to turn the other cheek before thinking about starting a brawl. But she was tough and determined rat, with shoulder length brown hair and golden fur, and bright blue eyes that shone with gentleness and spirit.

"'Ere you go, sugar," Delara said, who had returned and placed an enormous mug of water in front of Cimmeron, perspiration trickling down the side. "Ice cold, and on the house. And 'ere's a canteen for you if you need it," Delara added, handing her a large silver canteen that was already full and cold to the touch.

"Thank you so much, Delara," Cimmeron replied, taking large sips from her mug. The cold water felt so good and soothing sliding down her sore throat.

"You're welcome, dearie," Delara said sweetly. "If you need anythin' else, let me know, alrigh'?" With that, Delara left her to serve her other customers, including a skinny young fellow who smiled at her as he took his mug of beer from her.

"Hey sweet cheeks," he said slyly. "I saw you servin' your lil' lady rat friend over there, gave her somethin' a lil' extra." He leaned closer to her, leering at her. "How 'bout you can give me somethin' a lil extra, if you know what I mean, eh?"

Delara smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'll give you somethin' extra, dearie." With that, her fist flew forward and punched the obvious newcomer in the nose, causing him to topple over out of his chair. Tears ran down his face as he clutched his bleeding broken nose while the men around him guffawed loudly.

"How's THAT for a lil' somethin' extra, eh, boys?" Delara called out. The men cheered for her, raising their glasses to her. "I'll drink to that, Delara!" one called out, taking a large swig.

Cimmeron laughed and watched in amusement as some of the mouse's friends picked him up as he pinched his nose, saying things like "I TOLD you not to flirt with her" and "You had it coming, mate" to which the unfortunate mouse said "Shut it" and shoved them away. But her smile did not last long as she looked towards the door and saw, to her horror, a few guards came in.

Her heart pounding fast, she shoved her things in the outside pocket of her violin case and waved at Delara, who came to her immediately.

"What is it, sugar?" she asked, seeing the terrified look in Cimmeron's eyes.

"There are guards at the door!" she whispered frantically, pointing towards the door as she pulled her hood back on her head. "I need you to distract them. Do you have a back door or someplace where I can escape?"

"Yes. There is a trap door behind the bar you can go through," she whispered, pointing towards the bar. "Be careful, dear." Quickly she made her way to the guards who were looking around. "Hello! Welcome to the Rat Trap! What brings ye fine gents to our humble tavern?"

"We're looking for this rat," one of the large soldiers said gruffly, pulling out a large sketch of Cimmeron. "She was caught stealing some food from bakeries and we thought we saw her head towards here. She has golden fur and wears a black cloak. Have you seen her?"

Cimmeron carefully hoisted her violin case on her back, got down on her hands and knees, and slowly crawled towards the bar.

"Tha' girl? No, she ain't been seen 'round here," Delara lied smoothly, shrugging her shoulders as she wiped her glass. "Even if I did, I doubt she'd ever come here."

"We'll see about that," the tall soldier said.

Cimmeron crawled quickly behind the bar, hoisting the trap door open. She glanced up at Thomas, the bar tender, and pressed her finger to her lips. Thomas, who also was a friend of Cimmeron's, nodded and continued to wipe down the counter as if nothing was happening.

"Well, you gents can look all you like, but as I said before, there ain't no black cloaked rat who came 'round here," Cimmeron heard Delara's voice say casually. "However there's plenty o' beer to go round. Can I tempt you gents with some?"

"No, thank you madam," the tall gruff one replied. "We are turning this place upside down until we are sure that thieving rat is not here."

Not wanting to waste any more time, Cimmeron slipped through the trap door and closed it shut behind her, enveloping her in total darkness. Luckily, she had a few spare candles and a tiny matchbox she kept with her should she need it. Fumbling through the pockets, her fingers felt the candle and the matchbox, and she lit the flame. From the dull glow of the candle's soft light, she could see that she was in a long pipe of some kind, perhaps connecting to the sewers. The flickering light cast eerie shadows on the black walls, creating a creepy feeling of never ending. Taking a deep breath and clutching her cloak tighter around her, she began to walk down the tunnel, praying no one will jump out from the dark shadows.

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**Author's note: Great Mouse Detective and Ratigan (soon to come) belongs to Disney and Eve Titus**

**My characters, Delara, Thomas, and Cimmeron belong to me.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Hideaway

**EDIT: Author's Note: The song that Cimmeron is hearing in her mind is this one: watch?v=mCRa7S8O-tU&list=PLTiXkU7zlS5Gb4g80mWjc00E0bPXt1VKI**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2: The Hideaway

At long last, after reaching multiple dead ends and going in circles, she finally reached a rain vent. Sighing happily, she pushed it open and crawled out, breathing in the fresh air and blowing out her candle. Gazing about, she saw that she had arrived at an abandoned wine press. Some barrels of wine were still stacked neatly while others lay scattered about, broken and bone dry. There was a barrel that had a hole in it with a large letter R over the doorway. Deciding to take shelter there for the night, she made her way to the barrel. Because the doorway had no door, she peeked inside, which was slightly dark as the sun began to set. "Hello? Is anybody there?" No one answered except for her own echo. Slowly, she stepped inside, gazing about, gasping at the interior.

Whoever used to live here must have been very rich. There was a long red carpet stretching out over marble tile, which led to a golden throne with purple cushions while velvety curtains hung above it. Enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling, some of them broken and crystals hanging off, while others were still in perfect condition, ready to be lit. A large silver fountain with a mouse cherub standing on the top sat in one corner of the room, bone dry and cracking. And in another corner, to her amazement, stood the most beautiful golden harp she had ever seen, surrounded by tall mirrors.

Deciding it would be ok to spend the night here, she gently laid down her violin case and bag and untied the two blankets attached to her case. It had cost her much of her earnings, but it had been completely worth it buying them; the blankets kept her warm on the coldest of nights.

After making her bed, she opened her violin case to check on her beloved instrument for any damage it might have received during the chase. Thankfully, her violin was not harmed, only a little out of tune, which she fixed easily. After closing the lid, she made her way over to the harp, curiosity and confusion filling her mind. "Why would anyone leave such a magnificent instrument behind?" she wondered. As she drew nearer to it, a familiar stirring filled her heart, one that she felt whenever she drew near an instrument. Though she had never played a harp in her life, her hands instinctively reached up, the strings begging her to play them. Gently, she strummed the strings, and beautiful soft sound filled the room, echoing sweetly off the walls. The music was so soothing to her ears she closed her eyes as she plucked. Though she was only playing random melodies, soothing peace filled her as her fingers swept across the strings.

Little did she know, the owner of the harp was watching her.

After a while of playing, she stopped and turned her attention to the throne across the room, child-like curiosity filling her. She had never sat in any luxurious chair before, let alone a throne. Slowly, she spread out her black cloak and sat down. The cushions felt soft and comfortable under her. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, gazing about the room. In the throne, she felt strangely powerful, in control, like she ruled a kingdom. Smiling, she pictured all her royal subjects bowing to her as she came in, wearing the finest dress in all of London, a glittering tiara perched on her soft shining hair. She would take her seat on the royal throne, give a short speech of welcome, and permit her subjects to continue dancing and enjoy the night. She would watch them for a time as the ladies and gentlemean waltzed grandly around the room, the women's skirts blooming as they spun. Then, her love would emerge from the crowd and ask her to dance, looking oh so handsome in his finest suit, his white-gloved hand out in offer to her. Blushing slightly, she would nod and accept his hand, and he would lead her to the middle of the dance floor. She curtsies as he bows gracefully in turn with a grand sweep of his cape. Then, he would take her hand in his, and put the other around her waist, pulling her closer. Safe and secure in his strong arms, they would dance around gracefully as the guests watched. But she would not notice them as she gazes into her love's eyes, warm and beautiful, as he would gaze back just as lovingly into her own as they waltzed around the room…

Before she knew it, Cimmeron had risen out of the throne and was dancing about with her hands out in front of her as if she was dancing with an invisible partner, "ooh"ing and humming a lovely waltz tune with her eyes half shut, her fantasies taking over her completely.

As she danced, she felt a slight pang of sadness, wishing with all her heart it could be real…wishing that there really would be somebody to ask her to dance, to hold her hand, to gaze with deep love in her eyes…

Suddenly, as if someone was granting her secret wish, white-gloved hands gently grasped hers.

"You have the hand placement wrong, my dear," a charming voice said, placing her hands in the correct spots. "And it's more pleasurable…with two people."

Cimmeron's eyelids flew all the way open as she stared in shock at the stranger who had taken her in his arms. There before her stood the Napoleon of Crime, his handsome face smiling down at her with that famous grin.

"P-Professor Ratigan!" she gasped. "Y-you're supposed to be dead!"

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**Great Mouse Detective and Professor Ratigan belongs to Disney and Eve Titus**

**Cimmeron belongs to me**

**PLEASE Comment! Love to hear feedback!**


	3. Chapter 3: Musician's Reverence

**Author's note: When Ratigan plays the harp, here is the music I was picturing him to play: watch?v=ow-dhYYG94k **

**And here is the music I was hearing in my head when Ratigan and I dance: watch?v=mCRa7S8O-tU&list=PLTiXkU7zlS5Gb4g80mWjc00E0bPXt1VKI&index=13 **

**Enjoy! **

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Chapter 3: Musician's Reverence

The Professor smiled at her, chuckling. "The one and the same," he replied. "But I'm quite alive and well, as you can see."

Her heart pounding rapidly, she tried to push him away to run. "G-get away from me! Please don't hurt me!" But her attempt did no good as his strong arms held her fast, despite her constant struggling and even punching.

"Now now, my dear, there's no need for such a fuss," he said, pulling her closer. "I mean you no harm. I give you my word as a gentleman criminal."

Cimmeron stopped struggling for a minute, looking at him suspiciously. "You…really mean no harm?"

"Of course. I would never hurt a young lady just for coming across what used to be my secret lair and dancing and singing to her heart's content." He smiled at her warmly, and for some unknown reason, she believed him, and she relaxed, though it did not stop her from being cautious.

Feeling her tense muscles loosen up in her body, Ratigan smiled approvingly. "That's more like it," he said, pleased. "There's no need to be frightened of me."

Cimmeron snorted. "That's a bit rich, coming from the Napoleon of Crime who is supposed to be dead and has a reputation of plunder and murder," she said sarcastically.

Ratigan chuckled. "Touché, my dear," he said. Then, he took her hand more firmly in his. "Now, shall we continue?" Even as he said this, his hand around her waist gently pulled her into the first dancing steps and Cimmeron automatically followed, slightly fumbling for a rhythm.

"I…thank you, Professor, but…there's no music," she said.

Ratigan chuckled, twirling her. "There was no music when you were dancing by yourself, but that did not stop you. And besides," he added as he twirled her back into his arm, "I believe you were dancing to your own music that only _you_ could hear. We can do that again."

His words were like magic as the waltz tune she was hearing in her mind earlier suddenly flooded back into her senses. Her body automatically got into the rhythm of the slow waltz, falling easily into stride with Ratigan.

"That's it, my dear," he said approvingly when he saw her steps become smoother and more confident. "Let the music of your heart tell you what to do." And in no time at all, they were waltzing gracefully on the dance floor, her dirty skirt blooming as she spun and both of their capes billowing out with every turn.

As they danced, Cimmeron took the opportunity to look at him closely. Though she was a tall rat herself, Ratigan stood taller than her by about a head or two. His fur was dark grey except for a part of his face that was a dark peach color. He had a broad chest and large muscular arms that he carried with grace and pride. He was wearing a fine black suit with a red and purple striped cravat that was pinned to his throat. "He dresses quite fine for a criminal," she thought with a small smile. He was not bad looking either. His face was round, but it had a certain angle that gave him a look of intelligence and cunning. His wide smile was hid a slight smugness behind it, but it was very charming. And, goodness, his eyes were…amazing. Deep, amber brown with little flecks of red. They were…mesmerizing…

Ratigan chuckled. "Is there something that is pleasing to your eye, my dear?"

Cimmeron blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "I…yes. I mean, no. I mean…what makes you say that?" she asked, looking away in embarrassment.

Ratigan smirked knowingly, but he played along. "Oh, I just noticed that you had a certain gaze in your lovely eyes, particularly when you look at me," he said casually with a shrug.

Cimmeron blushed harder. After being silent for a moment, she decided to be honest and share her thoughts. There were times when she kept her thoughts to herself, but there were other times where she will voice her opinions to anyone who will hear, even strangers.

Clearing her throat, she said, "I was just familiarizing with what you look like, Professor," she said. "I don't see much of your pictures."

Ratigan chuckled darkly. "Well, because of my reputation, I can hardly allow myself to be pictured, can I?"

"That's understandable," Cimmeron nodded.

"Is that all you were doing? Just familiarizing?" Ratigan asked casually, but there was a hint of smugness behind his tone.

"…Well," she admitted hesitantly, "I never imagined a criminal to be so…handsome." She blushed, half wishing she hadn't said anything.

Ratigan smiled widely, his fur slightly fluffing in pleasure. "Why, thank you, my dear," he said, giving her an extra twirl before pulling her closer than before. "And may I say you are quite the lovely young woman yourself."

Cimmeron blushed and laughed. "Me? Well, I'm flattered, Professor, but I'm hardly much to look at," she said dismissively, now suddenly self-conscious of her grubby street clothes.

"Nonsense," Ratigan said. He suddenly twirled her and dipped her, her back arching over his knee as her leg kicked up. He had one hand on her ankle while his other gripped her back, his face very close to hers. "I know a diamond when I see it, no matter how thick its rough is."

Cimmeron's heart hammered as she gripped his shoulders for support and looked up into his eyes. "T-thank you," she barely breathed the words.

Chuckling, he lifted her back up, and he bowed to her while she curtsied.

"Thank you for the wonderful dance, Miss…?"

"Cimmeron," she answered.

"Cimmeron," Ratigan replied. "What an unusual and very lovely name." he took her hand and kissed it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The-the pleasure's all mine," Cimmeron stammered, blushing a little.

With a light chuckle, he wound her arm through his as he led her towards the harp. "So tell me, my dear," he asked. "Did you enjoy playing my harp?"

She froze, shocked, gazing fearfully at him. "You-you saw me? That's your harp? I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I shouldn't have played it. I thought it had been abandoned, and I-I just couldn't help myself."

"It's quite alright, my dear," Ratigan said assuringly, patting her hand on his arm. "It was not your fault you didn't know. It was my fault for leaving my harp here for so long." He gazed thoughtfully at his instrument. "I suppose I _would_ have been a little displeased if I saw anyone other than myself playing my beloved harp," he said frankly. He then turned his face to her, smiling. "But when I saw you playing, I could tell you were a musician and had every intention of treating my instrument with respect."

"How did you know I was a musician?" Cimmeron asked. Then she looked at her violin case and blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, right. My case is sitting over there. You probably saw it," she said, mentally smacking herself.

Ratigan chuckled. "Of course. But even if I didn't see it, I would have been able to tell you were a musician because of the way you were playing." He smiled at her warmly. "You have the musician's reverence."

"The musician's reverence?" she repeated curiously. "What is that?" she asked, though she had a vague idea already of what it meant.

"The musician's reverence is something that every singer and instrument player has. It is a respect for all forms of music making and they play them with enormous love and value, grateful for the sacred gift of song that they are blessed with to create music for the world," he said. His voice had a tone of reverence and thankfulness, with a peaceful smile on his face as he gazed at his harp.

Cimmeron gazed at him, astonished with his words. "I…wow. I…I have never heard such truer words about music in all of my life," she said, amazed. "I applaud you, Professor."

Ratigan smiled. "Thank you, my dear," he said. "I have a great fondness for music that I will always cherish." His smile went wider as an idea crossed his eyes. "Would you like to hear me play a little something?"

"I would love to!" she said, excited.

Smiling, Ratigan led her to an empty chair nearby, sitting her down like a gentleman. Then, with a graceful sweep of his cape, he sat down on his stool in front of his harp, poising his hands over the strings. With a deep breath, he began to play.

Cimmeron gasped quietly. It was the most beautiful harp music she had ever heard in her life. While she had merely been strumming random melodies, Ratigan played a full, haunting song expertly with grace and beauty, his fingers sweeping and dancing across the strings with splendor. The song was so soothing and peaceful, yet slightly mysterious, painting a picture in her mind of listening to the music while rain lightly poured down as she sat next to a warm fire. She closed her eyes as she listened, peace filling her soul, loving every second of it.

After what seemed like hours, but really only been a few minutes, Ratigan finished his mystifying song with sweet flourish. Cimmeron opened her eyes, smiling peacefully, letting the feeling of the song hang in the air and soak her for a moment. Then she stood up and applauded.

"Bravo, Professor. Bravo!" she said enthusiastically, clapping. "That has to be the most beautiful song I ever heard!"

Ratigan stood and bowed gracefully. "Thank you, thank you," he said, a pleased smile curving his face. "I'm a little rusty, as since I have not played my harp in such a long time, but—"

"Are you joking? That was brilliant!" she cried, approaching him. "I have heard other harp players before, and you have to be the best one I have ever seen!"

Ratigan's fur fluffed in pleasure, a very slight blush creeping on his face. "Well, I'm flattered, my dear, and I'm very glad you liked it."

"I did indeed," she said, smiling. She then turned her attention to the harp, her finger very lightly tracing the swirling patterns on the gold surface. "Where did you get this harp, anyway? It's so beautiful."

Ratigan smiled sadly. "It was a gift from my grandfather when I was young," he said quietly. "He knew I had a fondness for music, and he encouraged it, much against my father's wishes." His ears lowered as his smile dropped. "Playing the harp was my only escape from the darkness I faced when my father was…unpleasant to me." He stroked his harp lovingly. "Music saved me through much of my childhood."

Cimmeron's ears lowered as she gazed at the professor's solemn face, compassion and sadness for him filling her. "Oh Professor," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry."

Ratigan looked at her hand on his arm for a brief moment, then shook his head. "It's alright," he said dismissively, waving a hand. "All that is in the past. It's time to look to the future, and live in the now." He smiled at her a little, but the look in his eyes warned her to drop the subject, and so she did.

"Of course," she said, nodding in agreement. After a pause of silence, she cleared her throat and began to move away from him. "Well, Professor. It has been a great pleasure to meet you. I think I should probably go find, um, someplace else to camp for the night, as since this is still your hideout…"

"Oh no, my dear," Ratigan said, gently grabbing her hand, stopping her in her tracks. "I can hardly allow a young woman like yourself sleep in the streets! You must come and take shelter at my place."

"Oh, no. I couldn't possibly impose—" she objected weakly, blushing slightly.

"I insist," he interrupted, snapping his fingers. In an instant, a two mice and one tall gangly lizard came through a secret door and stopped in front of him, awaiting his orders.

"Gentlemen, take Miss Cimmeron's bags and take them to my lair, and bring a trolley to take my harp there as well. Our guest will be spending the night with us," he ordered.

"Right away, boss!" they said. The lizard picked up Cimmeron's bag, blankets, and violin case while the two mice ran off to fetch a trolley.

"I'll carry my violin, if you please," she said politely, taking the case out of his hands. "No offense, it's just I like to keep it close to me."

"As ye wish, ma'am," the lizard said, taking the rest of her belongings and hauling them through the door.

Ratigan held out an arm to her. "Shall we, my dear?" he said. Nodding, Cimmeron wound one arm through his while she hoisted the violin on her back.

"Thank you very much for letting me stay in your home, Professor," she said gratefully.

"You're welcome, my dear," he replied, smiling. "I can never allow a young lady with such potential to live off the streets."

Cimmeron blushed. Then, after a moment of looking away, she met his eyes and said, "You know, for what it's worth…music saved my life, too." She smiled warmly, squeezing his arm, putting feeling and understanding into that hug.

Ratigan gazed at her, a little taken aback. Then he smiled softly. "Music is indeed a marvelous savior," he said quietly, holding the door open for her.

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**And so our heroine has become aquainted with the World's Greatest Criminal Mind. What shall happen next? Stay tuned to find out!**

**Ratigan, Bill the Lizard, and Great Mouse Detective characters belong to Disney and Eve Titus**

**I, Cimmeron, belong to myself.**


End file.
